Season of Starlight

Third Month

The Sewers

The City of Kaleno, The Cronia Region

2326

Henri sensed trouble the moment he arrived at its doorstep.

Darkness wrapped around him with an uncomfortable embrace, his body squeamish with a desire to free itself from the unwelcome intimacy. His concealed surroundings were filled with uncertainty, inviting anxious thoughts.

Henri appreciated a world with clarity where he knew what to expect. Down here, lurking through the tunnels of the Kaleno sewer system, he couldn't perceive what he would find around the next corner. It could be nothing, an endless corridor or a structural wall. 

He gulped. 

Or the itching claws of The Vagabond getting ready to strike.

Henri shook off the childish apprehension and remained tethered to the lantern's light, a beckoning source of comfort in an otherwise hostile place.

Abbott clutched his pistol, jumping at the moving shadow of a mouse crawling up the cylindrical walls toward the surface. He watched it disappear through the open hatch.

"Take me with you," he pleaded, losing all hope when the mouse did not return. 

Betty led the group, holding the lantern high above her head. She kept her body pressed against the cobblestone wall, her shoes gripping the protruding ledge as a canal of brown water gushed past her toes, releasing a stench that scrambled her insides. 

She tilted her head back and brushed through a veil of spiderwebs. 

Betty swatted them out of her eyes, the frantic action causing her to lose her balance.

With a shriek, she began to plummet towards the water.

Henri caught her and pulled her against him with the full strength of his arm.

"You alright?"

"Yes! Thank you."

"What are we hoping to find down here?" Abbott asked.

"I am starting to wonder the same thing," Betty said, swinging the lantern from side to side. "There is no evidence of the blood trail anywhere. Maybe this was a mistake."

Henri used the vague light to assess the tunnel. He pressed a hand against the wall, his fingers touching a warm substance. He paused. "Perhaps not."

Betty stopped, turning her head. "What do you mean?"

Henri seized the lantern from her grasp and raised it. 

He found a handprint graffitied with blood over the cobblestone. The fingers were abnormal, twice the length of a human man, and the palmprint was the size of Henri's head. A cold sweat coated his body.

"Dr. Blanche, I don't know about you," he said, "but The Vagabond is starting to appear very real."

"It could be staged," Betty said. "It is not hard to fabricate creature evidence."

"Are you doubting your own Vagabond theory, Dr. Blanche?" Abbott wondered.

Betty shrugged. "I think it is fair to say, Constable Abbott, that we all hope it isn't real."

Abbott smirked. "Touché."

A distant growl reverberated through the sewer.

"What was that?" Betty muttered.

"Hopefully, the wind?" Abbott said.

"The wind doesn't growl."

Henri swung the lantern across the canal, illuminating a large archway. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

A patter of tiny feet intrigued his curiosity as a horde of mice ran out and dove into the water. 

A mixture of high-pitched screams and silence followed as the mice dipped beneath the surface and drowned. Some survived the swim and scampered up the ledge on the other side, bouncing over Betty's feet. She shrieked, sticking to the wall like a tapestry.

"Where are they all coming from?" Abbott marvelled, watching the rodents scamper out of sight.

"From in there," Henri said, pointing to the arch. "Let's go."

"We will never be able to jump across," Betty said.

"I don't plan on jumping."

Henri gripped the lantern to his chest and leapt into the sewage. A slow current pulled at his trousers, and his teeth clattered.

Betty gasped. "Are you crazy?"

"You wanted answers, Dr. Blanche and you were right. There is something down here, and we have to know what we could be dealing with. This is the only way."

Reluctant, Betty closed her eyes and sunk waist-deep into the sewage, keeping her arms above the water. "Oh, it's cold."

Abbott slipped in behind her, plugging his nose.

"Is this what a normal day looks like for you, Constable?" Betty asked, flinching as the carcass of a mouse snagged on her blouse. She twisted abruptly and separated from her dead companion, watching it sink to the depths.

Abbott sighed. "Well, considering the bizarre cases we have been through, this falls below expectation."

Betty faced him with a stare of astonishment. "Really?"

Henri placed the lantern on the opposite ledge of the canal and climbed onto dry land, lending a hand to Dr. Blanche and Constable Abbott. Once they were safely on their feet, he straightened up and turned to face the arch. He stood beneath it, framed in light as an elongated corridor revealed itself. 

Erasing all doubt, Henri escorted the others inside.

"Remarkable," Betty said, brushing a hand against the wall. "You seem to have discovered a priest tunnel."

"Are they quite common?" Henri asked, proceeding cautiously.

"In Kaleno, yes. During the Revolution of 2125, the monarchy led a retaliation against the Prophet Society. It was the first attempt to rid Kaleno of its religious roots. King Hared felt threatened by El Olam and signed a decree that all chapels and religious leaders be exterminated. 

As a result, many fled down here to the tunnels. There are rumours that a series of catacombs exist beneath the city where the priests met with one another during the purge. They are Kaleno's hidden treasures and an archaeologist's dream."

A snarl swept over them, and a low howl echoed thereafter.

Abbott nibbled on his cheek. "That all sounds fascinating, but could we further discuss it after we get out of here?"

"Good idea," Betty said. "I ramble when I'm nervous."

Henri silenced them both, holding a finger to his lips. "Quiet."

The path broadened, and soon, Henri found himself walking into an open room, the lantern heightening the hidden details. 

A table rested in the center, the stone walls doubling in height, tinted green and corroded. Moss grew out of cracks, and the air was thick and moist. 

Henri flashed the lantern, discovering old bookshelves stacked against the far wall. 

Water and blood covered the floor.

Betty clutched her shoulders, spinning in a circle. "What is this place?"

Henri squinted his eyes. "It's a hideout," he said, walking towards the table. He leaned across the surface, finding wrinkled papers and two blue pouches of doubloons. 

He passed the lantern to Abbott, who stood beside him and grasped the nearest paper between the thumb and index finger of his right hand.

"Find something?" Betty asked.

"This is a list of names," Henri revealed. "Look here, Abbott."

Abbott leaned closer until he could read the contents. "Reverend Joseph Quinn's name is written here, sir," he said, reading on, "and Priestess Tuluva Smallboy."

"The Vagabond's two victims," Henri said, glancing at the doubloons. "Two murders and two forms of payment. It appears someone is paying our Vagabond handsomely to kill these priests, and according to this list, several others still await the same grisly fate."

"How do we determine the donor?" Abbott asked.

"We can't, Constable, until The Vagabond strikes again," Henri said remorsefully. "Only after a kill will the payment exchange occur. We can't let that happen."

"Sir, why don't we just guess who the donor could be," Abbott said. "Only members of the upper class can afford to pay with doubloons. Not many could make this kind of transaction."

Henri grinned. "My thoughts exactly. Lady Croftdale's party just got more intriguing. Dr. Blanche, what do you think?"

Betty knelt at the foot of the table, picking up a pile of rags off the floor.

"I recognize these clothes," she said, weaving her fingers through the fabric. "They are Ricky's. He was wearing them yesterday."

Abbott grumbled. "So, Ricky Pender disappears, thought to be slaughtered by The Vagabond, and now his clothing appears stockpiled in a creepy lair? Look at it," he said, reaching over Betty as he held up the tattered shirt. "What are we missing? He couldn't have just transformed."

Betty lifted her eyes. "Constable," she said. "I think he did."

Henri arched a brow. 

He thought Abbott was overly dramatic. It appeared not.

"I should have seen this coming," Betty confessed. "We have been looking at this case all wrong!"

"How?" Abbott asked.

"The Vagabond is a creature that arrives on Doomsday to torment the world," Betty said.

"Yes, we know this story," Henri said. "What relevance does it hold now?"

"It arrives on Doomsday," she reiterated. "Not before. Not after."

Henri frowned. "Then, if this isn't The Vagabond, who are we dealing with now?"

Something summoned their attention to the end of the table, a dark object emitting a solid red light. 

Betty took the lantern and walked around the table until she stood above it, then picked it up. Her thumb moved over a rough-cut stone resembling a ruby's likeness, cradled in a crudely sculpted obsidian hand with sharp claws substituted for fingers.

"This is an idol of chaos," Betty said. "The Serpent's Talon, used by an ancient Tyscerism cult. They were a faction of nomads consumed by the influence of the Fallen Guardian. They raided religious villages across the Cronia Region, destroying evidence of El Olam's power. They were inevitably defeated, and the artifact lost to the sands of the Heawa Desert- or so according to the history scrolls."

"You dabble in Tyscerism history?" Henri queried.

"I have never touched a book on Tyscerism," Betty stated firmly, "but I remember a drawing of the artifact in an archaeological study I observed during my years at the academy. The Serpent's Talon holds chilling abilities. It was rumoured that the cult was a coven of witches using the relic to tempt desperate souls with an enticing offer. Once ensnared, the victims transformed, for the relic emits strong energy that elevates savage intent. The witches used them to do their foul bidding, to kill members of the Prophet Society."

"So, our Vagabond, is someone cursed by this relic?"

"It would appear so, yet I don't understand how Ricky Pender could have gotten involved in all this."

Henri scratched his chin. "Only one question remains. Who gave him the relic? Who is paying him to kill, and why is he doing it?"

Abbott held up several fingers. "That is actually three questions, sir," he said.

Henri opened his mouth and then paused. "Thank you for the clarity, Constable."

"You're welcome."